Take A Name
by plumpthighs
Summary: The same guy served him every day. Secret Valentine gift, coffee shop AU. Spamano.


The same guy served him every day.

Without fail, he would have spilled something on his apron, and his dark brown curls would be grabbing at the sides of his cap. He'd usually press the wrong button on the coffee machine and have to cancel the action and start again, shaking his head and tutting at his absent-mindedness. More often than not he had to pull his hand away from the steamer before he scalded himself.

Lovino found himself wondering more and more frequently why he continued to come to this particular shop. He supposed it was convenient, on his path to work. He liked a routine and he didn't like things to change, so his order never did. That didn't mean he didn't silently practise it while he stood in the queue, even although the clumsy barista (who was currently wiping up milk he had spilled) probably should have recognised him and memorised his order by now. It had been weeks.

The imbecile put down his cloth and took a breath, smiling and ready to serve. "Hi, good morning. How are you today?" He asked brightly, which was more conversation than Lovino was prepared for at this hour in the morning.

"A marble macchiato," he answered, and then shook his head. The man behind the counter laughed a little and Lovino scowled, pushing his hands into his coat pockets. "I mean, I'm fine. A marble macchiato, please."

His server nodded and clicked away at the till. "Coming right up! Is that small, regular or la-"

"Regular," he answered, as he did every day. Was it so much to ask that he be remembered, so that he could carry out his morning in relative silence? Lovino had taken the time to look at his name badge, but he seemed to misplace his apron often, and so he borrowed someone else's, his name changing every morning. Yesterday his name had been Liz. Today his name was Matthew.

"Can I just take your name for the cup?" asked 'Matthew', and Lovino decided that was the final straw.

He exhaled slowly and stared up at his server, who smiled dumbly back at him. The smile reached his eyes. It was as if he knew how annoying he was. "… I come in here every day."

The barista stepped back and his smile dropped slightly. "…really?" He asked, looking surprised. He raised his marker to the cup, looked at Lovino and gave a nervous laugh. "I'll just remember what you look like," he answered sheepishly.

Lovino crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "It's Lovino," he interrupted, before the man could start pouring his coffee, because undoubtedly he would try to write on the cup of steaming hot liquid and scald his hand, or, even more importantly, spill the drink.

"And how do I spell that?" asked the server, beaming back at him. Lovino stared, agape as he tried to comprehend the level of stupidity he was being subjected to.

"The same way you spell it every day," he answered, and another nervous chuckle was his reply. "The way you say it," he continued, with forced patience.

The barista grinned, completely unabashed by his customer's irritation. "I have an accent, we say it differently-"

"For the love of… L-O-V-I-N-O," spat Lovino, fishing in his pocket for his wallet, and then scrutinising every crease of it for exact change. Like hell he was giving a tip.

"Lovino," repeated the server as he copied it onto the cup in stocky black capitals, smiling more genuinely and going to (finally) prepare the drink. His grin was wide and white like a lens flare as he took his attention from the machine to continue talking. "I'll remember tomorrow, Lovino, I promise."

Lovino raised his eyebrows (or perhaps tutted, it was probably a combination of the two, he wasn't paying attention anymore) and crossed his arms over his chest, taking his drink and paying without saying another word, even when his server grinned again and told him to have a nice morning.

Bright and early the next day, Antonio was ready at his counter. He was wearing Liz' apron again and he had already accidentally squirted hazelnut syrup onto the front. It was eight thirty, and he swapped his position behind the bar to take orders. Lovino usually stumbled in around that time, still bleary from sleep. Sometimes his hair whipped into little waves where he hadn't had time to dry his hair properly after his shower. Antonio could relate very profoundly.

On cue, Lovino walked through the door and up to the counter. He frowned at the stain on Antonio's apron and then checked his name badge, like he did every day. He looked bored and tired when he made his order, which Antonio knew by heart. He asked him to repeat himself every morning, all the same. He could over-romanticise everything and say he liked Lovino's voice, but the truth was he liked the way Lovino's early-morning glare seemed to act like a screen broadcasting the thoughts in his head, where he was presumably imagining coffee-related ways to torture Antonio for his apparent stupidity. His face was so expressive and honest.

In short, Antonio liked annoying him – he was perfectly polite to most people, or rather, he would just keep his mouth shut. The first time Antonio tried to make small talk with him, a wealth of personality shone through the heartiest scowl he'd ever seen. He felt almost privileged.

He smiled and picked up his marker. "Can I have your name?" He asked, and Lovino literally threw his hands up in the air. Antonio hadn't expected it. He had to bite his lip quite hard to stop himself from grinning.

"Are you serious?!" demanded Lovino, leaning forward to argue.

Antonio laughed brightly and wrote onto the cup, setting about the order. "Lovino, I'm joking! Of course I remember. L-O-V-I-N-O."

Lovino huffed and crossed his arms again, eyeing Antonio harshly. "You've been doing this on purpose," he accused him, and Antonio had to force himself not to smile.

"Would you have talked to me otherwise?" He asked simply, raising his eyebrows as he peered over the coffee machine.

Lovino continued to stare at him. "No," he answered honestly. "Why would I?"

There was a silence between them. Lovino looked away first and Antonio's smile broke free of his efforts to restrain it.

"Because I make the best coffee," he chanced, adding syrup and pressing the small plastic lid onto the cup. "… that's why you always come when I'm on the counter, right?" He asked, and Lovino took a moment to remind himself to tut and shake his head as if he was embarrassed for the poor man.

"Of course not," he assured him, handing over his money and taking his drink. "You always take the counter when I walk in."

"You have a lot to say for yourself!" laughed Antonio, now leaning forward on the counter with his elbows. Lovino rolled his eyes and made to turn away. "Will I see you tomorrow, then?"

"If they haven't fired you for constantly stealing badges," replied Lovino dryly, spinning back. "I don't even know your name."

Antonio smiled and nodded to the cup in his hand before picking up his cloth and walking to go back to serve at the cash register. "Enjoy your coffee, Lovino," he said, with the tone of someone with a secret. Lovino shook his head and walked back into the cold, every sip another little burst of heat.

Once he had drained it, almost at work, now, Lovino nearly threw the cup away, realising at the last moment his name looked much longer than usual. He turned it over in his hand to read it properly and found a name that wasn't his own, written in stocky black capitals with a winking face and a phone number underneath. 'ANTONIO'.

He wondered if he should bring Antonio a new name badge when he went back the next day.


End file.
